


Dash Dot Dash Dot, Dot Dot Dash

by ItsTheDuran



Series: Dots and Dashes [2]
Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Canada Moist Talkers (Blaseball Team), Gen, Season 9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:48:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27085849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsTheDuran/pseuds/ItsTheDuran
Summary: Ortiz Morse shows up at PolkaDot Patterson's place with no warning, much like he did back when they were teammates and Dot was trapped inside a giant peanut shell. Morse has an announcement to make.Takes place during the Season 9 postseason.
Relationships: Ortiz Morse & PolkaDot Patterson
Series: Dots and Dashes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1977337
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8
Collections: Canada Moist Talkers Fanfiction





	Dash Dot Dash Dot, Dot Dot Dash

_"Ortiz Morse must be the worst pitcher I've ever met. The man can't throw a strike to save his life, loads the bases on purpose and always pretends that everything that goes wrong is part of his plan. His trade is the biggest improvement to the Moist Talkers championship chances since... well, since they signed me._

_I could have tolerated it if he was simply lazy, but that's the worst part, he's incredibly dedicated to his so-called craft. He practices, he strategizes, he proselytizes about his methods. I'd sooner go back inside the peanut than have to listen to his musings on the quadruple play and the efficacy of walking runners in to avoid grand slams again. I mean it, I would do it."_

* * *

PolkaDot Patterson was out of the peanut shell. Surprisingly for them, it was not the biggest change to their living situation. The way out had been a little more... squid-like than what they had anticipated. Did it beat being drafted to the Peanut's Pod team? Sure did. Did Dot wish Mooney had shared all the information she clearly had in advance? Maybe, though they would have wanted out no matter the cost.

Dot lay in their living room sofa, gripping a blaseball with their new tentacle and throwing it up and down in the air. Suddenly, they heard their door open. In an instant they had aimed the ball at the intruder, who quickly put his hands up.

"Wow, Dot, be careful with that! No one can take one of those, much less a frail old man like me!" The person they least expected showed up at their door. Ortiz Morse.

"Morse? Are you not supposed to be in Seattle?"

"Don't worry, the team hasn't gotten me back, I'm just visiting." Morse sat next to Patterson, handing them back their spare key. "You know, it's funny, we used to leave you in that very same spot when you were in the peanut."

"Yeah, that whole situation was a riot." Patterson replied, with as much sarcasm as they could muster.

"You're out now, though! Tragedy plus time and all that. A bit squiddier than I remember you, but you're out!" Morse patted them on the back.

Patterson moved slightly further away. "I imagined your time with the Garages would have turned you into a bad musician, not a bad comedian." The two of them were back to trading jabs in a matter of seconds, as if he had never left.

"I already was a bad musician, you just didn't come to my shows!"

"You do recall that I was trapped in a giant peanut shell."

"Yeah, good excuse, Greer tried that one too."

Patterson let out part of a laugh before they could catch themselves, and decided to just let it out. "Heh, fine, I admit it, that one was not that bad."

"You must really be happy to be out, I've never heard you laugh despite my best attempts."

"As with your pitching, your best tends not to be good enough."

"Ouch." Morse said, pretending to be hurt. Silence fell for slightly longer than what was comfortable. "I'm sorry I had to leave, Dot."

"Please. The team is looking better than ever." Patterson considered leaving it at that, but then they continued. "...And you know as well as I do that it was not your choice to make."

"Never thought I'd leave before you, huh?"

"I was not going to say it. But yes." Morse was even more correct than he thought. There hadn't been a blaseball season in which Patterson felt like their placement on the team was secured.

"How was it? With my replacement, I mean."

"You can ask him." Patterson purposefully skipped over the first one. "Beasley! Come here!"

Beasley Gloom sauntered over from another room, carrying a dumbell on his mouth. Patterson sighed and looked at Morse.

"I have never witnessed a dog be too busy lifting weights to respond to someone entering a home. I sincerely wonder what Gloom taught him."

"Beasley! Drop that thing and come here, boy!" Morse shouted with excitement. 

Beasley considered for a second, then dropped his dumbbell and ran towards Morse, jumping up on his lap.

"Good boy, good boy." Morse began petting him, then grinned as he looked at Patterson. "How come he's living here? I thought you despised pets."

Patterson averted their gaze. "Your guess is as good as mine. He wanted to stay with me for some reason." They picked Beasley up and pet his head with feigned disinterest. "I had to buy heavier weights."

"I'm happy for you two. If he can't be with the Shoe Thieves, I'm sure Workman would be happy to know you're taking care of him."

"I wonder..." Patterson came close to saying something, then trailed off. They let Beasley down so he could return to his training, then stayed silent for a moment. "Why are you here, Morse?"

"What, can't a man take an 11 hour flight to see his friends without his motives being questioned?"

"Just spit it out."

"What about this, I'll tell you, but you have to promise to come with me and the rest of the team to the Leaky Lounge tonight. I'm going to announce it in front of everybody."

"...Fine." Patterson agreed, even though they hated that bar and already knew what he was going to say.

"This was my last blaseball season, I'm retiring." Their assumption was correct.

"This is not the first time you've made that claim." It wasn't.

"This time I'm not joking." They knew he wasn't.

"Why? I imagined the Garages would have been happy to embrace a pitcher of your caliber. They loved Mike Townsend, for heaven's sake!"

"They do, and that's why I'm leaving. We're getting him back."

"And you are okay with that. I thought you loved this splort. Given all your talk about tactical walks, The Plan, the quadruple play... was all of that torture simply for your own amusement?" Patterson tried to make it sound like their typical jabs, but they couldn't help but sound frustrated.

"I love this splort with all my heart, Dot, but there's no place for a man like me in it." Morse looked in the direction Beasley left in, then locked eyes Patterson, speaking in an unusually serious tone. "This league's goal is no longer entertainment. You saw that. The Peanut, the Pods... I had no problem dragging down a team's championship chances when it was a victory for its own sake, but I can't justify doing it when there's lives at stake." He leaned back, returning to his usual relaxed tone. "Besides, I had already been thinking about it for a while. I'm a married man, you know? It would be nice to finally have some free time."

"I'm sure Mike Townsend will do a great job saving the world in your stead. One of blaseball's lost prodigies." Patterson's tone was devoid of any semblance of humor at this point.

"Dot, why do I get the feeling that you're opposed to this? Were you already banking on me tanking a division rival's record next season?" Morse joked, but Patterson clearly didn't seem amused.

"I don't know where you got that impression. I have called for your retirement to your face many times." They had, though they both knew that it had never been in earnest. "And, frankly, if I was actually opposed, that characterization would be incredibly insulting. You're awfully off the mark for a man that loves claiming to know me."

"I'm sorry, I-" Morse tried to apologize, but Dot continued speaking.

"And what's wrong if I was? Is it not okay for me to ask for a modicum of stability? I didn't ask to be traded here, I didn't ask to get attached to anyone, I didn't ask for the people I cared about to to get killed or leave me, and I certainly didn't ask to be trapped in a peanut for months then grow tentacles so that people can look at me as their goddamned savior." Patterson's eyes were watering, despite their best attempts to avoid it. "All I wanted to do was throw the ball and not be bothered by anyone, was that really such an unrealistic goal?"

"Yes it was. I was on your team." At some point during their outburst, Morse's arms had wrapped around Patterson, but they couldn't have told you when it happened. "I can't claim to know what the weight of expectations feels like, I have always been lucky to have people expect nothing of me. What I do know is that caring about people is never a mistake, no matter what happens to them. I treasure the memory of every friend I've lost, and my only regret is not spending any more time with them."

"I can't take any more people leaving, Morse. There's already been too many."

"You'll have to someday, but I'm not planning on leaving you any time soon, Dot. We're not coworkers or teammates anymore, but that doesn't change a thing. We're friends, and as long as I breathe I'll be there if you need me."

"Ugh... I'm such a child." Patterson wiped their eyes. "Having to be consoled by you is the most embarrasing moment of my life." They stayed silent for a moment, then lightly pushed him away. "I'm sorry you had to listen to that, Morse. My mind has been a mess lately, it has nothing to do with you. You're right to do what's best for you and your family."

"No need to apologize, it's good to let your feelings out sometimes." Morse let go of them. "You've put up with a lot in the time we've known eachother, you've earned more than a few chances to lash out at me."

Beasley ran into the room and jumped up on Patterson. "Not you too, Beasley..." They pet him, despite their own protests. "It's okay, I'm fine."

"Do you want me to stay here until our meetup or should I leave you alone for a while?" Morse had a feeling that he knew the answer already.

"I'd rather have some time alone, if you don't mind."

"No problem at all, I have a lot of people to bother around here. I'll see you two later." Morse pet Beasley's head, then put his hand on Dot's shoulder and left.

"See you." Patterson lay back down on their couch, suddenly very tired. They picked Beasley up and looked at him, pondering out loud. "I wonder who was supposed to take care of whom..."

* * *

They left for the Leaky Lounge later that night along with Beasley, and met up with Morse and the rest of the Moist Talkers. For the first time in a long time, nobody in the team missed a hangout. Patterson didn't dodge the invitation, Mooney rescheduled her nightly date, Cerveza didn't make an escape until much later in the night, Lott didn't even try to do the carboard cutout thing.

Until the late hours of the night, the Moist Talkers sat in an unfortunately named and even more unfortunately insulated bar telling stories celebrating Morse's career, sometimes dipping into whatever the opposite of celebrating is. How his victory in the last day of the season got them into playoffs in Season 4, his baffling no-hitter, that one time he walked the bases loaded and then walked two runners in for good measure, the week long arguments that happened whenever he tried to give Patterson some pitching advice, the ridiculous positions he'd ask the fielders to put themselves in, that day of practice in which he didn't manage to throw a single strike, the times when The Plan worked and the countless times when it very much didn't...

Whenever silence even threatened to make an appeareance, someone pitched in with another Morse story. It was a testament to how much Morse's career had and would always matter to the Moist Talkers. They closed the night with a toast, to Ortiz Morse, the best worst picher in the league, and to all of their fallen comrades. From people who Patterson had frequently heard about but never met, Trevino and Kennedy, to friends they'd make sure were never forgotten, TyVi, Hobbs, Bates, Kiki, Tony, and Gloom. As the sun slowly began to rise and people started filtering out, Patterson approached Morse one last time.

"What is it, Dot?"

"I... I've trying to find the words to say this all night, but I can't seem to, so it may seem out of character." Morse grinned in response. "Thank you for everything, Morse. You may be a terrible pitcher, but you're the best friend I could have ever asked for when I got here."

"Can you try that again but without the insult?" Morse replied, as he chuckled.

Patterson considered his request for a second, then replied with a genuine smile, the kind they hadn't shown anyone in a long time.

"No way."

**Author's Note:**

> There we go, a whole season late, but you know how Blaseball is, things move fast. I stuck to the Garages' nicer interpretation of the shadows because... I don't know, maybe I didn't have the stones to write something truly heartbreaking. A little messier than my previous work if you ask me, could have done with some more editing on the middle section, but I don't know why you would ask.
> 
> I might still go back to Jaylen's short tenure on the team that I skillfully avoided getting into here, who knows. A lot of things worth writing about constantly happen in Blaseball.
> 
> Anyways, have a nice day.
> 
> P.S. It's pretty funny that the Garages immediatly sent Townsend back to the shadows the next season.


End file.
